


in the bottom of a bottle (or on top of you)

by AudreyV



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Abortion, Bisexuality, Canonical Character Death, Confessions, Discussion of Abortion, Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash, Fisting, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Kink Meme, Lesbian Sex, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, Sex Tapes, Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10017308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyV/pseuds/AudreyV
Summary: “I should be thanking you. I almost feel human.”“Almost?” Bonnie asked. “Is there anything that would get you the rest of the way there? I can make Asher get it and leave it on the doorstep.”“Yeah.” Laurel’s eyes traveled down to Bonnie’s lips then back up to her eyes. “Can I kiss you?”“Why?”“Because I want to.”--Post 3x15.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Femslash February! It's the last possible moment, and I've finally managed to write some wlw fic. (This one is also a fill for the femslash kinkmeme prompt "Bonnie/Laurel, hurt/comfort".)
> 
> aboutelle and nextgreatadventure helped shape this, although I didn't run the final by either so all typos are entirely my own. :)
> 
> Set after the finale, full of spoilers. I started this in December but couldn't seem to get it finished. It turned out to be a lucky case of writer's block because I was able to incorporate things we've learned in 3B.
> 
> I had already written Bonnie offering to take Laurel to the abortion clinic before we got the canon abortion conversation, so I was pretty pleased that the Bonnie in the show and this one have thoughts and beliefs that intertwine so nicely. 
> 
> Comments and feedback make my little writer heart swell with joy.

* * *

“Tell Annalise I'm not ready to come back.” Laurel started to shut the door but Bonnie blocked it with her foot.

“Annalise knows that,” she said evenly. “And there's nothing to come back to yet.”

“Then tell Frank to fuck off.”

“Laurel, just listen for a minute,” Bonnie said.

“I'm not interested in hearing you plead either of their cases,” Laurel snapped.

“I won't. I'm here because I'm worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm your friend.” Like it was a fact, rather than a lie they'd agreed upon. (Except this time Laurel didn't let her.)

“We’re only friends when one of us wants something,” she spat. “And I don't want anything from you. So why are you here?”

“Because I'm your friend,” Bonnie repeated, softer this time. “I know you're having a hard time, and I understand so—”

“Oh, so your boyfriend was murdered and you almost died? Because I must have missed that part.”

“That's not what I— never mind. I shouldn't have come.”

“Wait.” Laurel caught Bonnie’s arm as she turned to go. “Is there booze in your bag?”

A darkness flickered across Bonnie’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She shook her head.

“No, but I have burritos from that place you like, and ice cream.”

“Mamacita’s? That's on the other side of town.”

“I knew you wouldn't want to let me in.”

Laurel considered it. “What kind of ice cream?”

“Double fudge chunk and strawberry shortcake.”

“Fine. Come in.” Laurel watched Bonnie glance around the dark apartment, taking in the dishes stacked in the sink, the empty liquor bottles tossed vaguely in the direction of the recycling can.

“Are you drunk?”

Laurel laughed. “Probably.”

“Want some company?” Bonnie picked up a half-full bottle of gin from the floor. Laurel shrugged like she didn't care but sat next to Bonnie on the couch all the same.

“So…” Bonnie began. “Are you—”

“Still pregnant.”

“I guess you're not keeping it.”

“I'm not going to change my mind so don't try.”

“I wasn't planning on it.” Bonnie took a long swig from the bottle then handed it back. She tilted her head to one side and studied Laurel, then stood. “Silverware?”

“Drawer next to the fridge.”

“Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Why?” Laurel asked, a sarcastic taunt in her voice. “You want to cuddle?”

“Funny.” Bonnie held up two spoons, then tossed the larger one to Laurel when she shrugged.

Laurel ate a few bites of her burrito, then dug into the chocolate ice cream.

“So, it’s Frank’s, right?” Bonnie asked.

“Ah. Your real motive,” Laurel muttered. Bonnie acted like she hadn’t heard and went on in a low, gentle tone.

“You're letting everyone think it's Wes’s, but if it was you'd be more attached. You’d be buying strollers, swings, economy packs of diapers, all that crap you need when you have a newborn.” Bonnie looked around. “Unless your spare room is stuffed with pack n’ plays, you’ve made zero plans. Plus you're drunk and by the looks of this place, you've been trashed for quite a while. You’re not keeping it. Because it’s Frank’s.”

Laurel set the ice cream down hard on the coffee table, leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest like they were a shield. She regarded Bonnie with shrewd, hard eyes for several moments that stretched out for miles. Bonnie slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet underneath her. She took another drink before calmly meeting Laurel’s gaze.

“Yeah, it's Frank’s,” Laurel said finally. Bonnie nodded.

“I won't tell him. As far as anybody will know, you miscarried Wes’s baby.”

“Thanks. I guess.” Laurel kept her tone bitter and razor-sharp edges, but deep down she was so tired. She’d expected Bonnie to have a bigger reaction, to do something other than sit calmly on her couch, body relaxed and face neutral as she drank directly from the gin bottle. She thought there would be judgement or at least an impassioned plea to talk with Frank first, but it didn’t come.

“I meant it when I said I'd make the appointment for you,” Bonnie said. “There's a place across the river in New Jersey. There's no waiting period there and they’ll give you anesthesia so you don't have to… They won't let you drive yourself home, but I can go with you.”

“That would be good.” Laurel’s eyes stung. “When could I—”

“Tomorrow if you want,” Bonnie offered.

“That's soon.” Laurel said.

“I have a connection there. She’ll make sure you're taken care of.”

“A friend?”

Bonnie chuckled. “Something like that.”

Laurel debated letting the matter drop, changing the subject to something light and easy, but Bonnie’s quiet composure made her want to delve deeper.

“You really want to be my friend?” she asked quietly. Bonnie nodded. “Then tell me something about your life outside work.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Other than how great Asher was in bed, I know nothing about what you do when you leave for the day.” Laurel was more embarrassed by that than made sense. She was right about what she said earlier. they only spent time together when one of them needed something, but even in those outings somehow Bonnie kept her life a closely-guarded secret. “I guess I didn't really think of you having a life outside of—”

“Work?”

“Annalise.”

“Ah.” Bonnie considered for a moment. “I read a lot.”

“I knew that already.”

“I wanted to be an entomologist when I was 5.”

“Okay, that’s weird but also adorable.” Laurel pictured tiny, blonde Bonnie sitting in the grass armed with a magnifying glass. “Could you even pronounce entomologist when you were five?”

“No,” she admitted, lips twitching up into a smile even though she tried to push it away.

“Tell me something else.”

“I just told you two things.”

“Those were easy. Tell me something big.” Laurel took Bonnie apart with her eyes, tried to imagine if she’d actually do it, and if she did what she could possibly say. She was still through the silence until Bonnie turned deliberately toward her.

“My… friend who works at the clinic. She’ll pull strings for you because I'm supportive of the work they do there.”

“Supportive how?”

“I make sure she always has a stack of envelopes with cash in them. She finds one on the floor sometimes and says, ‘honey, you must have dropped this,’ as she hands it over,” Bonnie said. “I know it would be better to go through a nonprofit abortion fund, but why make a woman who’s desperate fill out a form and wait and maybe get denied when it doesn’t have to be that way? Ethically it’s iffy, but so’s everything.”

“How does she decide who to help?”

“She’s good at knowing when a person is really, truly desperate. It’s usually not hard. They’ll tell you about the boyfriend who’ll beat the shit out of them if he finds out they’re pregnant, or the mom who’s turned a blind eye to the relative who’s been abusing them for years.” Bonnie pressed her lips together hard and glanced up at the ceiling. “You'd be surprised at how many of them tried to give it back. Envelope full of cash with no id, and they needed it, but they didn't want to fuck over the girl who might have lost it. Because they knew she needed it too. Eventually I started including little notes so they'd know the money was for them.”

“That’s so generous.”

“A couple hundred bucks can be the difference between a mom and her kids living in a nice warm apartment instead of a car.” Bonnie’s face constricted, went cloudy and dark in the blink of an eye. “I’m a terrible person, Laurel. Throwing a little bit of money at other people’s problems doesn’t change that.”

Laurel didn’t agree, but she let it go. “So you’re a bookworm, you liked bugs as a kid, and you’re a secret fairy godmother to women who are having abortions. That means you’ve had one, right?”

“Yes.”

“Who drove you home?”

Bonnie’s eyebrows arched with confusion, so Laurel went on.

“I can’t picture Annalise doing it, she’s not that kind or supportive. Unless it was before you met Annalise.” Laurel laughed, bitter and sharp. “I don’t even know how the two of you met. The way you handle her, the way you move around that house it just seems like you’ve always been there. You met her when you were an L1?”

“I knew her before that.”

Another silence. Laurel ate more of the ice cream. Her eyes kept straying back to the burrito but she didn't want to finish the night on her hands and knees, heaving up the contents of her stomach.

“Frank drove.” Bonnie kept her focus on a large piece of abstract art that Laurel hated but couldn’t be bothered to replace. “I was almost thirty. No one special in my life, didn’t need or have time for that, but I still got lonely. Sometimes I’d meet someone in a bar and take them home with me.”

“Did you think about having it?”

“Not for an instant. It’s all the cliche things they say, babies are huge responsibilities, your life will never be the same, blah blah. We were way too selfish to be good parents.”

Laurel’s brain was hazy, practically pickled after the past few weeks of hiding her heart in a bottle, but her gut was still sharp. The two parts of her caught the misalignment between the story Bonnie was telling and the truth in her words, but at different paces, gut first, which spurred her mind to break down what the other woman said and look at it from the other side.

“You just lied to me,” Laurel mused, curious instead of annoyed at the deception.

“About what?”

“Except it wasn’t a lie all the way. You give people facts, truths, and let them assemble the pieces into the lie themselves, right?” Laurel asked. “You talk about your abortion, and a breath later you mention one night stands, expecting me to connect those two things, when that’s not how it happened at all.”

The corners of Bonnie’s mouth turned up and she took the pint of ice cream out of Laurel’s hands.

“I did occasionally meet people in bars and take them home with me. Once or maybe twice a year. But you’re right. That’s not how I got pregnant.”

“Because the people you took home with you couldn’t knock you up.”

“Clever girl.” Bonnie almost sounded impressed. “What's your logic?”

“You said ‘people’ instead of men.“

“Inconclusive.”

“Maybe. But the way you're blushing isn't.” Laurel said. She debated her next question but decided to forge ahead. “It was Frank’s?”

“Yes.”

“I knew you were lying when you said you never hooked up.”

“How?”

“Frank has videos of the two of you fucking on his computer.”

“What an idiot.” Bonnie rolled her eyes, but Laurel heard the fondness in her voice.

“Yep.” Laurel tossed her spoon onto the coffee table. “Does it make you uncomfortable that I looked at them?”

“No.” Bonnie paused. “Did Frank show you?”

“I snooped. I thought it might be hot to watch Frank fucking some girl so I copied the files. The first video doesn't show your face.”

“What’s it show then?” Bonnie asked in a tone that teetered on the edge of bored. (Calculated boredom, Laurel knew. She’d seen Bonnie in evidence-gathering mode enough to know she was in the middle of a subtle interrogation.)

“Tits down. About ten minutes of Frank eating you out. I realized it was you when I heard your voice at the end.”

“And the other one?”

“It shows your face.”

“Did you watch it?”

“I might have.” Laurel felt her cheeks getting warm. It didn’t matter. Bonnie was flushed too, and the booze was making her eyes droop a little. “You seemed like you were having fun.”

“Frank’s fun,” Bonnie said casually, like there was nothing strange about the conversation. “You know that.”

“I do.” A pause, a drink, a stare. Laurel started to wonder if Bonnie was actually unconcerned. “The second video started the same as the other one, but the angle was different, so the camera caught more. You were on your back on the bed while Frank laid between your legs. You moved around a lot, but I don’t think he made you come.”

“And then?”

“You told Frank to lie on his back. When you got on top of him you made this little breathy noise and Frank groaned your name. He said he looked at you at work that day and he wanted you so bad, he would have fucked you on Annalise’s desk, right in front of her. It was pretty hot.”

“That’s it?”

In her mind Laurel heard Bonnie whimper as she got close to coming apart, saw Frank’s hand gripping a pale thigh hard enough to leave marks. She met Bonnie’s gaze and knew she should say ‘yes’ and change course, but something in her needed to see how this would play out.

“You stayed on top until you had an orgasm. You were still moaning and squirming when Frank flipped you over so you were on the bottom, and he just…” Laurel trailed off, remembering how it felt being in Bonnie’s place with Frank moving above her, hard and fast. “He pinned your hands over your head and fucked you until you got off again.” She looked at Bonnie, whose shallow breathing and the way she was staring betrayed her thoughts, even though her words didn’t.

“Sounds vaguely familiar,” Bonnie said.

“When it was over he told you he loved you. Ring a bell?”

“You know Frank. He gets caught up in the endorphins and says it.”

“He never did with me,” Laurel said and everything stopped.

“You’re fucking with me,” Bonnie said quietly. Laurel shook her head.

“Only three little words he ever said to me were ‘I killed Lila.’” She shrugged and reached for the bottle. “Not quite as romantic.”

“Frank and I… it wasn't like that, Laurel. Never has been.”

“Whatever. It doesn't bother me,” she said, even though they both knew it was a lie. Bonnie nodded and let it stand unchallenged.

“It doesn’t seem fair, that you’ve seen porn of me but I haven’t seen porn of you,” Bonnie said a few minutes later.

“I’ll burn you a dvd to take home. There’s a really good one of me and Frank.”

“Doing what?”

“He spanks me, then makes me beg him to fuck me,” Laurel said.

“You like begging?”

“Why are you asking?” Laurel’s eyes flashed. “You gonna make me beg?”

“I think that’s a very bad idea,” Bonnie replied calmly.

“I guess you’re right,” Laurel agreed, although she noted that wasn’t a ‘no.’ They sat quietly until Bonnie noticed the ice cream was starting to leave melty rings on the coffee table and got up to put it in the freezer.

“You let me lie to you,” she said when she returned to the couch. “When you asked me about Frank that night in the bar.”

“I cared way more if you were talking to him than if you used to fuck. Or were still fucking. Although I’m curious.” Laurel eyed Bonnie seriously. “Coalport?”

“Yeah.”

“He killed your father.”

“I know.” Bonnie’s sharp gaze turned to Laurel. Her jaw flexed and she swallowed hard. “I’d been waiting for him to die for years and then suddenly I was free. I didn’t believe Frank had done that for me until I saw him outside the funeral home. He looked guilty, desperate, hopeful. That night in the motel, we were so far from the nightmare we call our lives, it was so easy to just fall back into it. We both needed to feel human. To feel loved.”

“So you do love him.”

“I do. But not how you think.”

“Then how?” Laurel hugged her knees to her chest and willed the seasickness in her gut to vanish.

“Frank knows the things I did, the things I lived through. Over the years, I told him everything, and he never flinched. He understood me. Eventually he told me why. We both fought our way through the darkness and lived.”

“‘There are things worse than murder, Laurel.’ You said that to me the night you and Annalise had me call Frank.” Laurel slumped back on the couch. “So you—”

“Don’t.” Bonnie sighed. “Frank and Annalise are the only people who didn't look at me differently once they knew. That's how I knew I could trust them. I’d rather not know for sure I can't trust you.”

“Maybe you can.”

“I doubt it.” Bonnie’s wary brown eyes studied Laurel’s face. “What's the worst thing that ever happened to you?”

“Annalise Keating.”

“Before that.”

“I really was kidnapped when I was sixteen. The affidavit recanting was the lie. And my dad wouldn’t pay the ransom.” Laurel tried not to be pleased at catching Bonnie off guard.

“How did you get out of that?”

“I waited until one of them wanted me all to himself. He let his guard down and I stabbed him. Lucky for me, a man groaning because he’s bleeding out sounds a lot like a man groaning because he’s getting off.” Laurel looked down at her feet where they were balanced on the scuffed edge of her coffee table. “I was a murderer long before Sam.”

“You killed someone who was holding you against your will and who was going to assault you. Justifiable, one hundred percent.”

“But I liked how it felt. I twisted the knife and he was so confused. Once he realized he was dying, he looked terrified. Weak. That was the first time I’d felt like a person in a month,” Laurel said. She saw Bonnie process what she’d said, the bigger picture starting to dawn on her.

“If they held you for a month, you'd have a good case for diminished capacity. I’d still go straight up self-defense though,” Bonnie said confidently. “Dress you in a sweater set and modest skirt, flash mug shots of the dead asshole at the jury. By the time they left to deliberate they'd want to give you a medal.”

“I just told you I enjoyed killing someone and you're reasoning out how you'd get me acquitted?”

“What should I be doing?” Bonnie shrugged and took a long swig of gin. (Laurel saw the bottle was almost empty, vaguely thought Bonnie was doing a decent job of catching up.) “One bad guy bleeding out on the floor is what I call a good start.”

“Why does it feel like this conversation ends with a cross-country killing spree?”

“You've seen Thelma and Louise too many times.” Bonnie plunked the bottle down on the coffee table. “There are plenty of men who need killing right here in Philadelphia.”

“So your dad needed killing?”

“He did.” She eyed Laurel warily, lips pursed as she considered her next words. “You left something out of the story of your kidnapping.”

“It was a whole month. I left a lot of things out.” Laurel tugged at a loose thread on the upholstery of the couch. She opened her mouth to speak, then reconsidered and thought for a few moments more before she went on. “The man I killed had a wife. Three kids. He went to church. Everyone was shocked when they learned he’d been murdered. Such a shame. That’s when I knew for sure not all monsters have the decency to look like monsters. Some dress themselves up like god-fearing men, loving husbands… attentive fathers.”

“They do.” Bonnie took a long slow breath, then her eyes flicked back up to Laurel’s. “Everything you’re imagining right now… it was ten times worse.”

“I’m—“

“Do not say you’re sorry.”

“I’m glad he’s dead.” Laurel nodded firmly. “I’m glad Frank killed him.”

“I am too.”

“You ever think about what it would have been like if the two of you decided to have the kid?”

“Sometimes,” Bonnie admitted, and the sad smile that flickered across her face made Laurel’s chest ache.

“Do you regret it?”

“No. I can be sad about it and still know it was the right decision.”

“Did Frank want you to have it?”

“The abortion?”

“The baby.”

Bonnie frowned and studied Laurel for a moment. She sighed and slumped back in her seat.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But he knew why I couldn't.”

“Why?”

“Do you know what genetic memory is?” Bonnie waited for Laurel to shake her head, then continued. “There's a theory that things that happen to us can change our genetic code, and then when we have children… A boy whose mother watched her sister drown in a lake would be terrified of water from a very early age. Kids whose parents grew up during the Great Depression would hoard food, even though they'd always had plenty. The things that happened to me are written too deep. What my father did rewired me completely. I couldn’t risk passing that damage on. And then you add in the things coded into Frank’s DNA? The kid would have been doomed from the start.”

“So what’s in Frank’s DNA?” Laurel asked.

“You should know better than to ask.” Bonnie sighed. “I told you what my father did, and I feel okay about that, because it was a decision I made for myself. Frank’s story isn’t mine to tell.”

“I understand. You’re a good friend, Bonnie.”

“He’s always had my back.”

“I meant to me.” Laurel frowned at the way Bonnie was avoiding her eyes. “Look at me? Am I looking at you any differently?”

“No.” She smiled, just barely, and her face softened enough for Laurel to see the person she hid underneath the rigid exterior. “Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you. I almost feel human.”

“Almost?” Bonnie asked. “Is there anything that would get you the rest of the way there? I can make Asher get it and leave it on the doorstep.”

“Yeah.” Laurel’s eyes traveled down to Bonnie’s lips then back up to her eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

Bonnie thought for a minute, then nodded.

Laurel had kissed her fair share of women. Overall she found them to be softer than men in every way, but even by that measure Bonnie was unusually delicate. Their lips pressed against each other, all the nervous energy in both their bodies spiraling between them. She nipped at Bonnie’s lower lip and slid a hand into her short hair.

She had her fingers on the button of Bonnie’s pants when cold hands pressed down on hers, holding them still.

“Do we need to talk about this first?” Bonnie asked quietly and Laurel's fingers turned to stone, desperate, but she ignored how heavy they felt.

“Probably, but let's not.”

“Laurel—”

“I don't get sentimental and I'm not going to knock you up. I need to forget. I can do that in the bottom of a bottle but I'd rather do it on top of you.”

Bonnie considered it.

“Then do it,” she said finally and that was all Laurel needed. She pushed them toward the bedroom, but froze and went pale when she remembered why she hadn't slept there in almost a month. She felt Bonnie’s body warm against her back as she stared into this abyss.

“It doesn't have to be here. The couch is fine or the bathtub—”

Laurel doubled over like she was in physical pain, even though the agony shooting through her was based in her self rather than her cells. She wanted to explain, to assuage the fear she saw in Bonnie’s face, but the words wouldn’t come. She let herself slump to the floor.

“I can’t try to fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Bonnie mumbled as she knelt next to Laurel.

Laurel could tell Bonnie wanted to help, but she knew if she opened her mouth she’d just scream, so she curled into a tight ball and fought to steady herself. She felt a hand rubbing along her back, then Bonnie tucked herself behind Laurel, snaked an arm over her and pulled her close.

“Everything's wrong,” Laurel whimpered. Her fingers clutched at soft flesh like she wanted to pull Bonnie right through her. “I don't know how to live when everything's so wrong.”

“You don't need to know how. You're fierce and you'll do it anyway.” Bonnie’s lips pressed together hard. “Just tell me what I can do.”

“Distract me,” Laurel pleaded.

Bonnie nodded and sat up. She pulled her blouse off over her head, not bothering to unbutton it. Laurel watched as she stood, let her pants fall to the ground and delicately stepped out of them, then turned toward the living room.

“Come on,” Bonnie said.

Laurel followed her to the guest bathroom. She leaned against the cold tile as Bonnie adjusted the temperature of the shower. (Thank god they were here and not in the master with the tub, Laurel thought, stomach flip flopping.)

Bonnie undressed her efficiently, though occasionally she pulled Laurel down to kiss her, or pressed her lips to newly exposed skin. Laurel was naked first and she watched numbly as Bonnie made them even by snapping off her bra and shoving her panties down.

“Get in,” she ordered.

Laurel did, breath catching when Bonnie squeezed in behind her. They barely fit even though Bonnie was tiny and she wasn’t big. Laurel hadn’t tried to fuck in that little shower before, but she was grateful it was there.

Bonnie worked up a lather between her hands, then pulled Laurel to her. Soapy fingers worked up and down arms, slid across torso, slipped around her waist and Laurel couldn’t keep herself from kissing Bonnie again.

The water thrummed a beat Laurel had forgotten. She breathed in the steam and focused on points of contact: small hands, one snaking up her back, the other cupping her breast; Bonnie’s mouth on hers, dark and focused; the occasional brush of a nipple or a thigh against her skin. The places they touched helped Laurel find solid ground again, something real and living for the first time in weeks.

She put her hands on either side of Bonnie’s waist and gently switched their positions so Bonnie was under the stream of water. Laurel watched as the water turned blonde hair a shade darker, made it stick to Bonnie’s head and the side of her face. Laurel pushed it back and smoothed it down, a little surprised to find that doing so made Bonnie look like she was all huge, dark eyes.

“You okay?” Laurel asked.

“This is always a little weird for me. Someone new, navigating what they like, figuring out what they don't.”

“It's weird for everybody like that. Just tell me if I do anything you don't like, and I’ll do the same.”

“Okay.” The corners of Bonnie’s mouth quirked up. “Well, to start, I really don't like that you stopped kissing me.”

It was a ridiculous line. Combined with the smug smile on Bonnie’s face, Laurel couldn't help but laugh. She pulled Bonnie close to her, felt her sigh as their bodies touched.

Bonnie was drenched, pressed against Laurel on one side and the tile on the other. She whimpered when Laurel toyed with her pubic hair.

“Is this okay?” Laurel asked.

Bonnie bit her lip and nodded (and they both knew it was a lie, because nothing was okay, and it hadn’t been for a year, but in the moment Laurel decided they deserved to pretend.)

“I want to fuck you,” Laurel said, gently sliding her fingers against Bonnie’s clit. “I came so hard watching Frank do it. I’ll admit, I didn’t see you that way before, but after I watched him make you come with his mouth, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d taste like.” She sucked the skin just under Bonnie’s ear. “So far so good.”

“Less talking,” Bonnie said, sliding one leg to the side. She covered Laurel’s hand with hers, pushed her fingers deeper. “Take what you want.”

Laurel did. She felt Bonnie slick and hot around her fingers and she made a little noise of surprise.

“This isn't just a pity fuck to get my mind off things,” she murmured into Bonnie’s ear. “You want me to do this.”

“You wouldn't be doing it if I didn't want you to.” Bonnie grabbed her and kissed her roughly, whined against her mouth as Laurel stroked her more firmly.

“Good.” Laurel pressed Bonnie hard against the tile wall and hiked one of her legs up to hook around her hip. Bonnie tried to slide her hand between Laurel's thighs but Laurel smacked her away.

“No,” she scolded. “It's still my turn.” She curled her fingers and Bonnie groaned and clung tightly to her.

They found a rhythm, even though the shower seemed to contract in on them. Bonnie’s quiet moans reverberated against the tile and glass. Laurel was grateful Bonnie didn’t ask her to be gentle, because what she needed was to fuck someone like it would erase them from existence. As she moved faster, their movements grew broader, less contained, occasionally crashing a heel or hand into the glass walls.

“This isn't working,” Laurel growled the third time her elbow knocked hard against the shower door. She turned off the water and dragged Bonnie out, haphazardly pushed a towel at her and shoved her against the sink, facing the mirror. Bonnie made a tiny, surprised noise when Laurel’s fingers sunk into her, but she pressed back too, and mumbled “more” a moment later.

If Laurel had been in her right mind, she would have been gentler. (Afterward she stuttered out an apology, because how could she have handled Bonnie that way, knowing what she now knew. “I wanted you to fuck me like it didn't matter, and you did,” Bonnie said, and the matter was closed.)

Laurel plunged her fingers in and out in a steady rhythm. Bonnie squirmed in her grip, mewled, spread her legs as far as she could considering how off balance she was. Laurel turned her around, pushed and pulled her like she was a doll until Bonnie was sitting on the sink with her legs wrapped around Laurel. From the new position she could kiss Bonnie while she fucked her so she did, pushed her tongue inside her mouth and gloried in the way Bonnie whined.

Bonnie writhed against her and Laurel needed more. She dropped to her knees and ravaged her, tongue lighting up hot spots like forest fires, licking, sucking, grazing her teeth against tender skin. When Laurel’s fingers joined her mouth, Bonnie's face contorted and she was so naked, every bit of her.

It felt real, being immersed in another human being, tasting her, feeling the tension winding her body up, everything slick and warm, hearing Bonnie making ragged, broken noises. The tile was hard under Laurel’s knees and it hurt. She liked that it hurt, liked that she was painfully in her body, liked that Bonnie had a hand in her hair and was pulling hard, and maybe it was real, maybe they were alive. (Laurel wasn’t sure, thought maybe she died in a warehouse in Miami a decade ago, or in Annalise’s basement, wondered if maybe the woman sobbing in her grip was just a ghost of someone who could have been but wasn’t, but then she knew they couldn’t be dead, because Bonnie gripped her tighter, cried out, arched her back one last time and then went still. Laurel could feel every molecule of both of them throbbing, pulsing, and her heartbeat was hard and fast in her head. They were alive.)

Bonnie leaned back against the mirror as she steadied herself. Laurel was afraid she’d want to talk about it, but Bonnie crashed into her again, lips roaming, hands rough on Laurel’s breasts.

“You want your turn?” Laurel purred, and Bonnie laughed.

“Yeah. But I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

“We need to be in the bedroom then.” Laurel turned to go but Bonnie caught her hand.

"You sure?" she asked quietly. Laurel shrugged.

"No, but maybe it'll be easier to be in there with some company. You can distract me," she said with a smirk as she slid Bonnie's hand up her thigh.

 

Bonnie went down on her like they had all the time in the world. It was slow and heady, delicate, deliberate. She did it until Laurel whimpered, practically begged.

Begged. Laurel remembered their earlier conversation. She should have known this would happen, that they were on a path that would leave her desperate and ravenous.

“God, Bonnie, please,” she muttered.

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Use your hand too,” Laurel said and a moment later she moaned. “Yes. More.”

“How much more?”

“Keep going until I tell you to stop.”

Bonnie did, worked her up and open until three of her fingers were buried deep and Laurel was squirming.

“More.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” Laurel pleaded. “I need to feel it. Make me feel it.”

Bonnie nodded once and tucked her thumb and pinky finger in among the others, and Laurel almost laughed remembering her first time doing that.

“Like a duck’s head,” the senior women's studies major explained. It didn't seem like it would feel good but Laurel was enthralled by how hard that girl came all over her hand. Eventually she tried it herself and god she saw stars. She usually felt them too, inside out, throbbing around every cell. The pop pop pop of fireworks inside her went off as her cunt opened up in a giddy sort of yawn and Bonnie's hand was drawn inside. Laurel inhaled sharply as she tensed.

“Are you okay?” Bonnie asked.

“I'm fine, just… fuck me.”

“I'm worried I’ll hurt you.

“I want it to hurt.” Laurel saw Bonnie frown but then she did as she’d been asked, moved her hand by millimeters at first, then more, harder. Bonnie leaned down and slid her tongue against Laurel’s clit as she fucked her.

It was gorgeous and awful at the same time, which might explain why Laurel started laughing, laughed until tears were streaming down her face. Everything was mixed up and wrong, but it was so unlike the way she and Wes fucked that Laurel could almost ignore the ghost in her bed. She could almost forget that her tits were huge and sore and she’d been ravenously horny for two weeks, disgusted by her body and her own carelessness, wanting so badly to get off but hating herself for craving something so alive.

She was alive. Her heart raced and her muscles tensed and she stretched, pointed her toes, reached for it, felt her mind and her body tentatively reconnecting, rewiring, neurons reaching across the gap then suddenly receding again. The harder she pushed, the bigger the gap grew between her body and what she desperately wanted.

“What do you need?” Bonnie asked when Laurel groaned in frustration.

“I don’t know.”

“Can I try something?”

“God, anything,” Laurel said. “I was so close but then it just…”

“I know the feeling,” Bonnie murmured. She slowly pulled away from Laurel, then crawled up her body and settled on top of her. As Bonnie’s hand snaked down between them, Laurel reached up and pulled her down into a kiss.

Bonnie pushed inside her again and Laurel moaned against her mouth. Under the comforting, tangible weight of a warm body, she started to relax. The release she’d been chasing, craving, began to seem possible again as pinpoints of energy streaked from her center down her limbs. She screwed her eyes shut and imagined waves crashing over her, beginning the process of knitting together the things in her that had been broken.

Laurel wasn’t naive. She knew an orgasm wouldn’t fix a damn thing, but as her body began to shake, she felt again. It was bright white, blinding, tearing her apart and shining a light on everything that ached. She wrapped her arms around Bonnie, held on, thought vaguely how different it was doing this with someone so slight and soft, felt herself convulsing, felt Bonnie’s lips against her ear murmuring something she couldn’t quite translate, felt herself starting to become unmoored, felt her heart pounding in her chest and blood rushing through her, felt real, felt alive, felt, felt until she wished she could be numb again.

She felt everything. Her body shook itself loose and she heard herself wail.

“Laurel?”

Laurel opened her eyes to Bonnie curled up next to her, worried eyes fixed on her face. Bonnie's hands were tight around her wrists and everything felt liquid and thick.

“Sorry,” she mumbled quietly.

“Don't be. You want to talk about it?” Bonnie paused. “How far back did you go?”

“I didn't. I was here, it's just…” Tears ran down her face and she breathed. “I lived, you know?”

Bonnie looked confused, but she nodded anyway.

“I thought about that earlier. If maybe I didn't make it out.” Laurel leaned over and kissed Bonnie, hard, drew it out, felt her mouth, her heartbeat, her tightly wound body beside her. She finally pulled away. “But if I died in the fire, why do you feel so solid?”

Bonnie’s lips curved up into something that was almost a smile. She ran her fingers through Laurel’s tangled hair.

“I wish I could tell you it’s all going to be okay,” Bonnie said, voice low in her throat. “But in my experience things usually aren’t. But I know that you’re a survivor, a fighter, and what I can tell you is that you lived because the world needs you in it.”

Laurel pressed her lips together and nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “First I told you we’re not friends, then I ate all your ice cream and then I fucked you like I was paying by the hour.”

“I didn’t believe you, we can always get more ice cream and if that’s how you’d treat a hooker I’m in the wrong line of work.” Bonnie regarded Laurel with serious eyes. “No part of me regrets this, and that won’t change. You understand?”

“I do.”

They lapsed into silence for several minutes.

“I think I know who did it.” Laurel didn't mean to say it, but the words came out as she laid there, limbs made of jelly. She felt Bonnie shift, felt everything shift, felt the woman next to her freeze, the only movement her deep breaths, in and out and in and out again.

“Did what?” Bonnie asked, even though they both knew what Laurel meant.

“The day that Annalise cut the deal with Denver, I went to New York with Michaela and Asher.”

Bonnie sat up. “Why?”

“I wanted to confront Charles Mahoney. Find out why he did it.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bonnie shook her head, exasperated. “You’re an idiot.”

“Imagine what you’d be doing if someone killed Annalise and no one else seemed to give a fuck.”

“But we did, Laurel. I know you’re upset we had to—“

“Pin it on Wes? Yeah, I hate that we did that, but I know why. He’s dead, we’re alive, we need to stay safe.” Laurel took a deep breath. She sat up and turned her body so she was facing Bonnie. “But I don’t think we’re safe at all, Bonnie, I don’t think any of this is over, it’s just the beginning and I’m so worried Wes was just the first one.”

“Slow down.” Bonnie took her hands and held her gaze. “You went to New York to confront Charles Mahoney. Then what?”

“He was waiting for a cab. I had a gun—“ Laurel squeezed Bonnie’s hands at the look of shock on her face. “It’s fine, I didn’t use it. I don’t think I was going to kill him, I just wanted answers. I was about to walk up to him and suddenly there was someone blocking my way. It was this guy, Dominic. His dad is a friend of my dads. I’ve known him since we were kids.” She watched Bonnie’s eyes go wide as she put the pieces together in her mind.

“That timing is a little unsettling.”

“He was following me. No doubt. I should be used to shit like that, my father’s done it before over the years, but…”

“It could still be a coincidence.”

“A couple days after I got back from New York, I called my father. I told him things were bad and that I was scared. I said there was this powerful family, the Mahoneys, and they killed the guy I was dating and I was afraid they’d kill me too.” Laurel felt her insides freeze, like they had that day on the phone. “He said I didn’t have anything to worry about. That I was safe, he’d always keep me safe. Whatever it took. And I knew.”

Bonnie processed the information quietly, eyes on their joined hands. When she finally looked back up at Laurel, her face was unreadable.

“How scared do we need to be right now?” Bonnie nodded at Laurel’s expression and went on before she could reply. “What do you want to do?”

“Run. But I can’t. There’s nowhere he can’t find me.”

“So what’s the next best option?”

“To do nothing.” Laurel took in a shuddering, broken breath. She felt her hands, her whole body, starting to shake. “The way we stay safe is to go along with the lie. As far as the DA knows, Wes killed himself out of guilt. As far as Annalise, Frank and the others know, it was the Mahoneys.”

“Annalise wants to go after them,” Bonnie said.

“Let her. They’re still bad people, even if they didn’t kill Wes.”

“I don’t think we should start a war if we don’t have to.”

“We’ve always been at war, Bonnie,” Laurel said, barely audible. “I’ll talk to her. Tell her Wes wouldn’t want any more bloodshed. That I don’t either. I’ll convince her to call it off.”

“I’ll do what I can too.” Bonnie nodded slowly. She laid back down and Laurel did the same.

“This isn’t how I expected my night to go,” Laurel said.

“Me neither.” Bonnie gently pulled Laurel into her arms. “We both know how little control we have over what happens to us, so I won’t make you any promises. But I’m on your side.”

“I know,” Laurel said, even though part of her that still doubted that. “And with any luck, this won’t be the thing that kills us.”


End file.
